


Something's Gotta Give

by virame



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cutting, Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Other, Self-Harm, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virame/pseuds/virame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the boys know (and understand) that Harry doesn’t deal with things in the best way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something's Gotta Give

**Author's Note:**

> First fic I've ever posted on AO3, unbeta'd and rushed. Contains probably triggering material regarding self harm!!! Kudos and comments appreciated!
> 
> Title from One Thing by One Direction

Under the covers, Harry folds the small metal sheet in half, presses it flat and bends it back and forth, back and forth until the fold is crisp. When he tears it from the edge, it gives way easily and he’s left with two neat halves, each with a jagged edge.

He lays his index finger lightly on the edge of one half, testing it. It’s rough and right. Perfect. He takes a deep breath and smiles to himself contentedly

Noise from the front of the bus distracts him for a moment. Harry can hear the not too loud chatter surrounding a game of Fifa. He’s pretty sure he can hear the microwave going too. Not banter too loud that it’s distracting, but background noise so much that it’s comforting. 

He brings up the inside of his wrist to meet the sharp edge. A tingle crawls across his scalp. He closes his eyes and waits.

Nothing happens.

There is no release. Just a weird tingling sensation. He opens his eyes and sees the skin of his wrist drawn up in a wrinkle, snagged on the edge. He pulls it the opposite way and a dull throbbing starts in his wrist.

Holding his breath, Harry pushes down on the piece of metal. It sinks in neatly.

A sudden liquid heat fills his body. The pain is so sharp, so sudden. Harry catches his breath, There is no rush, no relief. Just pain – a keen, pulsing pain. Harry drops the torn edge of the blade and grasps his wrist with his other hand, dimly aware even as he’s doing it that this is something he’s never done before. Never tried to stop the blood. Never interfered. It’s never hurt like this before and it’s never not worked. 

Harry lifts his hands away for a moment and wipes his wrist on his shirt; the blood pauses then leaks out again, He goes back to gripping his wrist and tries to ignore the throbbing and the pinpricks of sweat on his lips and forehead. He looks down and sees blood seeping out between his fingers. 

A sizzle of electricity, white hot energy causes through his body. And suddenly he’s up, out of his bunk, walking towards the front of the bus, towards his boys, his friends, his brothers. Arm held out like an offering.

Louis is the first to turn around when Harry walks through the door separating the lounge area from the bunks and the back of the bus.

“Oh, Harry” he says, sad and resigned. “No, Harry, no.”

Liam turns then, Zayn and Niall also instinctively abandoning their controllers and rising to their feet. They know better now than to move into action too quickly, know how vulnerable Harry can appear but at the same time how likely he is to lash out. The room is quiet, and, waiting for their cue, Louis, Liam, Zayn and Niall stand watching, faces tense and waiting. As Harry’s eyes relax, dipping down to the floor in front of him, and as his shoulders slump, Liam goes into action, moving forward and reaching up to the First Aid Kit on one of the shelves.

Zayn reaches backwards to switch the TV to standby at the same time as Louis steps forward, taking Harry’s hand into his. Liam unwinds a roll of gauze, wipes away the blood that’s fallen to the underside of Harry’s arm and goes over the cut with an antiseptic solution. It burns, but for a moment at least, the throbbing lets up. All of the boys, including Harry, can see as Liam takes away the cotton wipe that the cut isn’t that deep, that it’s no worse than any of the others which have been littering Harry’s arms for the past eight months. Harry wonders why it hurt so much, and then why he wanted to show it to the others. 

“It’s a bleeder,” Niall says. Liam presses a square of cut gauze to it. “But it’s not deep, is it? Doesn’t need stitches, like.”

When Liam’s finished, he takes a step backwards and allows Louis to step in his place. Louis closes both his hands around Harry’s thin wrist – fingers careful around where the cut is - and pulls them to his chest. He presses with such a sure, steady force that after a while, the bleeding stops and the pain begins to drain away.

Louis lowers his hands, finally and reaches to put another bandage over the cut, wrapping gauze around Harry’s wrist with a dozen or so quick twists, and secures it with a few pieces of tape. 

Louis looks back across his shoulder and sees Liam, Zayn and Niall sitting, watching. He turns back to Harry, curling and arm around his waist and walks him forward slowly to the sofas. Louis sits and pulls Harry in, sitting him across his lap, maneuvering Harry so his back is resting along Zayn's side. 

Zayn circles his arms round Harry’s upper body and pulls him close. Presses his cheek to the side of Harry’s face. Breaths deep the scent of Harry’s thick hair, fresh from the showers they had taken after the show only a few hours ago. 

“Scare yourself?” Zayn asks.

Harry pulls back. He can see a tiny, scared reflection of himself in the brown-black centre of Zayn’s eyes. 

They all sit in silence, again. Observing Harry.

“Why?” Niall asks. “Why don’t you tell us what’s up instead? It’s horrible seeing you like this, you know?”

Harry considers pulling himself free from Zayn’s embrace, but realises it would take too much effort and he’s so tried now.

Liam sighs. “Whatever it is, Harry, it can’t hurt worse than this.”


End file.
